


Trust Issues

by Meowth



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Drabble Collection, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love at First Sight, M/M, Memory Loss, One Shot Collection, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Racism, Scars, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Slow Burn, Time Loop, Time Travel, Trust Issues, Verbal Abuse, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:27:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25528927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meowth/pseuds/Meowth
Summary: Robin doesn’t trust himself. So how can anyone else trust him, much less love him? He struggles with these questions every day, but he can’t afford to let them get to him, can’t afford to let them slow him down. He has too many people relying on him, and he’ll do anything—whatever it takes—to live up to their expectations.Meanwhile, for the first time in his life, Chrom falls helplessly in love.One shot collection.
Relationships: Chrom & My Unit | Reflet | Robin, Chrom/My Unit | Reflet | Robin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63





	1. Déjà Vu

**Author's Note:**

> To the few people who found this fic before, apologies for deleting and re-uploading. I just decided I wanted to write some more content and make it a bit more organized.
> 
> Anyway, I’ve shipped these two idiots since 2013 but recently got into Awakening again so I had to write some. Mostly just one shots, may develop some plot later. Tags will be updated accordingly. Also, disclaimer that my memory is bad so I might make some mistakes with canon, pls forgive me if I do. Lastly, I don’t have a beta reader, so pls excuse any typos. I do my best. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the instant Chrom meets him, Robin is endlessly familiar.

Chrom would remember it vividly—the first time he made Robin laugh.

Because he didn’t feel like it was the first time at all.

They’d just finished taking care of the bandits who’d tried to burn Southtown to the ground. They were bruised, and exhausted, the ghosts of wounds aching where Lissa had healed them after the battle. Robin in particular had taken a nasty blow from a brigand’s axe, and Chrom eyed him carefully as they regrouped in the town square in case he had any trouble. He seemed fine though, and Chrom found himself breathing a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to have to bury his newfound friend already.

And he did consider Robin a friend, he realized, even at that point. Because Robin had fought alongside them without hesitation, had put himself in harm’s way and even _protected_ Chrom at the cost of that very blow. Chrom wasn’t sure if he was aware of it—the way he’d shoved him aside without thinking. There’d been something dark and desperate in the amnesiac’s eyes as he’d done so, but it’d been gone the moment after, when Lissa had helped him up from the dirt. So Chrom had let it go.

But even if he didn’t say anything, Chrom couldn’t help the nagging feeling in the back of his mind, something almost like déjà vu. 

In fact, he’d felt that way almost constantly since meeting Robin earlier that day. From the dreamy look in his half-asleep eyes, to the way he held his sword on the battlefield, everything about the man was incredibly familiar, to the point it was almost jarring. Chrom was sure they’d never met before, and yet…

He almost felt as if he’d forgotten something, too.

Something important…

…

The townspeople were asking them to stay, he realized belatedly, and Frederick was of course shooting them down. Lissa let out an indignant sort of yelp in turn, and even Robin winced, looking a bit disappointed.

“You’ve quite the stern lieutenant there,” he said, eyeing Frederick warily, like a small animal might eye a cat. Chrom supposed he couldn’t blame him, with the way the knight seemed to have it out for him. Of course, he couldn’t blame Frederick, either—he was only doing his job.

“Yeah, well, ‘stern’ is one name for it,” Lissa muttered. “I can think of a few others!” She pursed her lips at the knight in question, on the border of childish. Frederick just smiled pleasantly back at her, a look that was all too familiar.

Chuckling, Chrom leaned over, holding up a hand to feign a whisper into Robin’s ear. “Frederick only smiles when he’s about to bring down the axe.”

Robin raised his eyebrows and turned his head into Chrom’s shielding hand. “Duly noted,” he whispered back with a smirk. It was such an easy exchange, like something between old friends. Then his eyes met Chrom’s though, and Chrom faltered, suddenly aware of how he’d leaned very, _very_ close, without entirely meaning to. He had to look down just a bit to meet those black eyes, and when he did, he couldn’t help but notice how long the other’s lashes were, how just the corner of his lips curled up when he smiled…

It was distracting.

Frederick cleared his throat then, armor clicking as he straightened, indignant. “You do realize I _am_ still present?”

Chrom tore his eyes away, glad for the interruption. Things might’ve gotten a little awkward there, he thought absently, if he’d kept staring so openly at Robin’s face. “Oh, we realize,” he said.

It was that thoughtless comment, he’d realize later, that earned him a laugh from the other. Nothing loud, or boisterous—just a chuckle, a wide smile and dark eyes crinkled in amusement. Chrom froze when he heard it, though, staring at Robin again as if entranced.

That laugh…

He wasn’t quite sure why it surprised him so much. It wasn’t that Robin seemed the gloomy type. Quite the opposite, in fact—for a man who’d just woken up in a field with no memories other than his name, he seemed in remarkably high spirits, and he’d even smiled at Chrom just a moment ago. Nonetheless, something about his laugh made Chrom fumble, caught off-guard. That sense of déjà vu again.

He’d heard that laugh before. He knew he had.

But where?

Black eyes met his again—not a cold black, like the darkness of the unknown, but warm like a summer night—and Chrom was hit with another wave of recognition, a familiarity that threatened to knock him over. He’d experienced this before, he thought. This exact situation. In a dream, perhaps? One he’d forgotten until now, and now that he’d remembered it, he… he felt…

He felt what?

_Like he’d found something important._

_Something he didn’t want to lose again._

… He felt awkward.

He considered Robin a _friend_ already, yes, but he didn’t _know_ him. Why was he getting so flustered? Robin blinked at him, one eyebrow slowly arching upwards in a questioning expression, and Chrom felt then as if time was moving agonizingly slowly. Gods above, he’d been caught staring not once, but twice in one conversation. What was _wrong_ with him?

_He could still remember the feeling of Robin’s hand as he pulled him up from the grass. How it’d fit so neatly in his own, as if it belonged there._

Suddenly, he felt his ears heating up.

Frederick’s voice cut through his thoughts though, another blessed distraction, and Chrom managed to tear his eyes away from Robin once again. “Milord remains as amusing as ever,” the knight was saying, before gesturing pointedly to the town gates, where his steed waited patiently. “Now then, shall we be going?”

Going. Right. Chrom swallowed roughly, adjusting Falchion on his belt and starting towards the horses with a nod. “All right, all right.” In truth, he wouldn’t have minded staying a night in Southtown himself, or at least having dinner. But he knew Frederick had a point about getting back, and with Lissa there, he felt the need to set something of an example by making the more responsible choice. Plus, he was anxious to get back to Ylisstol and see about getting Robin to a specialist who might be able to help with his amnesia.

He also felt compelled to keep moving, as he always did when he was uneasy. His mind was a whirlwind of confused thoughts and questions, and that sense of déjà vu surrounding Robin was at the epicenter of it all.

He wanted answers. And he wanted Robin to find the answers he sought as well. Chrom didn’t know why, but he wanted to help the man as much as he could. Maybe it was just his normal morality, but… No, he felt there was more to it than that.

They’d never met before… He was certain they hadn’t.

 _And yet Chrom found that laugh incredibly familiar, and found himself drawn to it. Just as he was drawn to the other’s side in combat, as if he_ knew _him, as if they’d been fighting together for years. And he found his gaze drawn to the other’s features, the soft look in those warm black eyes, as if… as if he was looking at someone he’d known for a very, very long time._

Why?

Who was Robin, really?

But he pressed his lips together, trying to push the questions from his mind. There was no use dwelling on them. Robin himself didn’t know anything, and Chrom didn’t want to put any undue pressure on the man when he was surely already so lost and confused. He didn’t want to… weird him out. So he took a breath to try to calm his own messy thoughts, before turning and smiling at the amnesiac, encouragingly.

“Ready to go, Robin? The capital isn’t far.”

This time he was able to hold that gaze with a little more confidence. It was true that he still felt uneasy, that sense of déjà vu hovering in the back of his mind. And he didn’t know where to start when it came to the puzzle that was Robin, but that… that was okay, he thought. For now they could take things slow, chat on the road, and maybe discover some answers together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	2. Grimleal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin worries about who he is. Frederick’s distrust of him doesn’t help.

Robin had been able to dismiss Frederick’s judgment as simple wariness, calculated, and not at all unreasonable. It was only natural, he’d thought, for a knight to be protective of his wards and distrusting of strangers. Even if his gaze was incredibly cold, and his words unnecessarily curt, Robin had tried not to take it to heart. He was only doing what he thought best, and when Robin tried to imagine himself in the knight’s position, he thought that he probably would act much the same.

Nonetheless, it bothered him when he looked up from a lighthearted conversation with Chrom to find Frederick glaring daggers at him from across their campsite. Robin couldn’t help the way his stomach sank then, or the way his smile slipped like water off of his features. His eyes met Frederick’s for only a moment—black against dark hazel—and what was perhaps most unnerving was the fact that Frederick didn’t look away, didn’t show the slightest shame at being caught staring.

Ha. But then, Robin could hardly imagine the words _shame_ and _Frederick_ in the same sentence, even having known the knight for only a short while.

Somehow, that only made it worse.

In the end, Robin was the one to tear his eyes away, a silent surrender. _Yes,_ he thought. _That’s right._

_Distrust me. Hate me, even. I have nothing to offer you to prove I deserve otherwise…_

It made the fact that Chrom apparently _did_ trust him all the more remarkable. When Robin looked at things objectively, he knew that Frederick was more correct in his insistence on treating Robin like an outsider. He couldn’t even bring himself to be offended by the other harshly judging his character, because Robin himself didn’t know what his character _was._

For all he knew, he could’ve been just as untrustworthy as Frederick claimed.

He could’ve been someone evil in the past—someone who hurt people or did terrible things.

Even if Robin didn’t have any such inclinations now, that didn’t mean anything. It didn’t prove anything. And in truth, Robin distrusted himself almost as much as Frederick did. It wasn’t that he ever wanted to hurt anyone—of course he didn’t—but he was distantly alarmed by his own ability to turn off his emotions in combat, to cut down brigands as easily as if they were made of clay.

That wasn’t… That wasn’t normal, right?

That wasn’t the response of someone who didn’t have blood on their hands.

Robin tried in vain to tune back into what Chrom was saying. He’d been speaking before Robin had noticed Frederick watching him, prattling on in an undeniably endearing way about some mischief he’d gotten up to with Lissa one time. Robin had been thoroughly enjoying the story, but now he couldn’t seem to recall what it’d even been about. 

He swallowed, roughly. There was a faint, pulsing pain behind his eyes. 

“Robin?” He heard the other saying after a moment, as if from very far away. “Robin, are you all right?”

_“Are you all right?”_

Black eyes slid over to meet Chrom’s blue, and the pain in his head spiked. Robin tried to hide a wince, but based on the worry that flickered over Chrom’s face, failed miserably. _Gods,_ Robin thought then, in some distant, far-off part of his mind. _Don’t look at me like that._

_I don’t deserve it._

He didn’t understand why the other would be so openly concerned about him when he didn’t even know who he _was._ The look Frederick gave him was far more appropriate. He wanted to tell Chrom as much, to insist he leave him alone—no, he wanted to ask why he _hadn’t_ left him alone in the first place, why he’d decided to take him with them and even _help_ him, against Frederick’s better judgment.

It was foolish, as Frederick had been so quick to point out.

But this man… Robin couldn’t bring himself to say anything like that to him, because somehow, somewhere inside him, he knew it’d be pointless. Chrom had never been one to listen to reason.

_How do you know that?_

Robin stood abruptly then, trying to shove away the thoughts and questions growing louder and louder in his mind. _Gods,_ his _head._ He couldn’t… “I-I’m sorry,” he managed finally. “I think I must’ve tired myself out earlier. I-If you’ll excuse me.”

He didn’t mean to be so curt, but he couldn’t—didn’t want Chrom to see him like this. His head was aching terribly all of a sudden, and all he wanted was to crawl into his bedroll and curl up. Better yet, he could just curl up in the dirt, and if he was lucky, perhaps the Earth would just open up and swallow him whole.

Yes, that would… Perhaps that would be for the best…

He stumbled towards his bedroll without heeding Chrom’s protests. Frederick watched him cooly as he passed. 

…

… … … 

The next thing he was aware of, he was curled up tight under a blanket, staring out at the forest on the edge of their makeshift camp. The fire had gone out, but the embers were still smoldering. He could see Lissa in his peripheral vision, watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest for a moment as she slept.

He didn’t remember taking his coat off, or pulling his blanket out of his bag, but apparently had done both at some point during the night. The pain in his head had faded into the background, but still hovered on the edge of his consciousness, threateningly. 

Had he been dreaming?

He couldn’t recall what it was about.

His throat felt incredibly dry, and he shifted just slightly, contemplating getting up to go find a drink. It was then he heard voices though, from somewhere behind him—so quiet he almost didn’t notice them at all. He froze.

“—ve to understand that I can’t just abandon someone who so clearly needs our help.”

It was Chrom. His voice was level, but held an edge of frustration Robin hadn’t heard from him before. Robin held his breath, straining to listen.

“A noble sentiment,” another voice—Frederick—replied. “But while I’m proud to see you display such chivalry, milord, I simply can’t stand by and do nothing while you put yourself in harm’s way.”

“There’s no _harm_ happening, though, Frederick. Robin has done nothing but aid us in the short time we’ve known him.”

Frederick didn’t reply right away. Robin could imagine him giving the other a deadpan look easily enough. “You of all people should know that people’s intentions are not always what they seem,” he said finally. “I simply don’t want to see you or Lissa get hurt.”

Chrom took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. “Once again, I appreciate your concern. Your prudence is something I have and will always value. However…” Here he lowered his voice a bit, almost strict. “... You’re not going to change my mind on this. Robin stays.”

There was another long moment of silence then, one so thick Robin felt he could’ve cut it with a knife. He hardly dared to breathe, eyes wide as he stared out at the forest. Of course… Of course they were talking about him. The questions of who he was and what ought to be done with him had been hanging over them all since they’d found him in that grassy field.

He couldn’t blame Frederick. He didn’t blame Frederick at all. And yet…

“My lord,” the knight said again, and this time there was something else in his voice—something _colder._ “Please reconsider. You must realize… He’s _Grimleal.”_

_Grimleal?_

The word echoed in Robin’s head then, loud, persistent. Like something inside a cage, throwing itself against the bars, trying to get out. Frederick continued speaking, but Robin didn’t hear him. _Grimleal, Grimleal, Grimleal…_ He knew that word, he thought. He definitely did _._ But where had he heard it?

What did it mean?

Robin reached inside himself then, tried to sift through the inky blackness that was his memories, but he couldn’t find anything. It was nothing but darkness, staining, thick like blood and coating his hands. He tried to force his way through it, but it was like trying to wade through quicksand and he couldn’t move. The darkness just clung to him, pulling him down, down, down… 

Pressure on all sides. The pain in his skull, mounting steadily behind his eyes until it was unbearable.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t… he couldn’t think.

It hurt.

But still, he couldn’t get that word out of his head. _Grimleal._

 _That’s what you are,_ a voice taunted him from the darkness. _And what you’ll always be._

…

He asked Chrom about it the next morning, as they made their way down the winding, wooded path towards Ylisstol.

“The Grimleal?” Lissa echoed when she overheard his question, giving Robin a troubled look from her perch on the back of Chrom’s horse. “Why do you want to know about them?” 

Chrom gave him a look as well, but it was a bit more guarded. Robin didn’t think he knew about his eavesdropping the night before—hoped he didn’t, anyway. “Did you remember something?” Chrom asked.

Robin hesitated, pulling nervously at his high collar. The weather was clear, the sun beating down on them despite having barely reached its zenith, and Robin was beginning to feel uncomfortably hot under his many layers of clothes. “Sort of,” he confessed. “I’m not sure. I just feel like I’ve heard of them before...” His eyes flickered over Chrom and Lissa’s features, searching for any hint of fear or loathing. There was nothing like that there, though—only a vague sort of confusion.

“These clothes,” he continued after a moment, gesturing to his own robe. “They’re Grimleal, right?”

A worried look fluttered across Chrom’s face. He opened his mouth to reply, but Frederick beat him to it, pulling his horse up beside Robin’s assertively. “Indeed,” he muttered. “They are. The Grimleal are a Plegian cult, and one that no _decent_ men associate themselves with.” He looked Robin up and down pointedly. “You appear to be _intimately_ familiar with them.”

 _“Frederick,”_ Chrom warned, but it was too late—his point had been implied clearly enough. 

No decent men associated themselves with the Grimleal, which meant Robin couldn’t possibly be decent. The tactician pressed his lips together, stomach churning at the thought. It was sound logic. So Frederick had more reason to hate him than him simply being a stranger.

“I only speak the truth, and milord knows it,” Frederick said mildly. “You can’t deny that he’s obviously one of _them.”_

Them.

Robin tore his eyes away to stare vacantly at the ground. He didn’t understand the situation, didn’t know why the knight hated the Grimleal so much, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. Frederick’s loathing wasn’t directed at some nebulous group—it was directed at _him._

Because he was Grimleal. He was...

“Even if he is,” Chrom said quickly. “That doesn’t make him our enemy.”

Robin’s head shot up. He stared at the lord with wide eyes. “Chrom…”

Frederick scoffed, loudly. “Ha! An admirable sentiment, but one those very enemies would take advantage of in a heartbeat. Forgive me, but my judgment has served me well this far.” Here he fixed Robin with a dark, piercing glare—one that burrowed inside him, spreading like fire under his skin. “I don’t intend to make any exceptions.”

Robin swallowed, roughly, searching for the words to combat the other, to try to change his mind. But he couldn’t find any. He had nothing to offer. “Understood,” he said finally, weakly. “I assure you I don’t mean any harm—”

_That’s what you think._

“—but I won’t try to change your mind. I’m sure you have your… reasons.”

There was an odd moment then where something flickered across Frederick’s face. It wasn’t shame, or any kind of apology, but rather some… acknowledgment. Perhaps it was only Robin’s imagination, but he felt as if the knight’s gaze softened, if only for an instant. But then it was gone, as quickly as it’d come, and that cold, impassive expression was back in its place. 

“Indeed,” the knight muttered, curtly. “And you’d do well to remember it.” He didn’t say anything else then, seemed done with the conversation entirely. He tugged his horse away and fell back, following them at a distance.

Robin couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief then. Even though he could still sense the knight’s glare, boring into his back, he felt as if a weight had been lifted off his chest. His head ached, dully, but he thanked whatever gods there were that it hadn’t grown into a full-blown migraine. He could still function like this. He could still get by.

Even if Frederick didn’t trust him, and likely never would, it didn’t matter. All he could do was do his best to support their company as… as long as Chrom would have him.

_However long that would be._

Chrom drew his horse a little closer then, casting a glance over his shoulder before fixing Robin with a soft, apologetic look. “Please, forgive Frederick,” he said quietly. “I know he can be a bit… intense, but he doesn’t mean any harm. He’s only thinking of his station.” 

_Ha._ Robin almost wanted to laugh at how the other danced around the fact that the knight outright _hated_ him, as well as the fact that apparently, he had good reason to. He tried very hard then to force his expression into something cool and unaffected. “I take it the Grimleal are not particularly welcome in Ylisse?” he ventured.

Chrom hesitated for a moment, inclining his head, almost ashamedly. “They’re a fringe group here, at best,” he admitted. “To be honest, I don’t know much about them…”

“We hear about them in magic circles sometimes,” Lissa cut in, leaning up against Chrom’s back, to be more included in the conversation. “Apparently, they use dark magic and worship a big, scary dragon.” Her light tone belied her frankly alarming words, and Robin gave her a worried look for a moment, confused. She continued, quickly; “But I mean, we worship a big scary dragon here, too. So I don’t know if it’s really all that different.”

Chrom smothered something that might’ve been a laugh, before schooling his features into a more serious expression. “You should be more respectful when talking about the Divine Dragon, Lissa,” he chastised. “You _are_ a cleric, after all.”

Lissa just rolled her eyes, dramatically. “Yeah. Okay.” She turned her attention back to Robin, offering a bright smile. “Don’t worry about it too much, Robin. Even if you’re Grimleal, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. And I don’t really care one way or another.”

“Indeed,” Chrom hummed. “Emm taught us well to judge people based on the qualities of their character—not where they were born or how they were brought up.” He smiled at Robin then, softly, reassuringly. “You fought alongside us, and for that, I’m grateful.”

It was only for a moment, but Robin found himself blinking rapidly at his words. Suddenly, he felt as if something was lodged in his throat.

“So regardless of where you come from, I consider you a friend,” Chrom finished. “You’d do well to remember _that,_ too.”

 _A friend_.

So that was how Chrom felt, laid out before him, plain as the light of day.

It was blinding, but Robin couldn’t bring himself to look away. He didn’t know how to respond—to Chrom or Lissa. They were both being far too kind for their own good, he thought, and it… it made Robin’s chest tighten, as if something was squeezing his heart. These people… How fortunate he was to have been found by them. 

He still felt raw and uneasy; the pressure of that blackness was still lingering on the edge of his mind, and Frederick’s words still echoed somewhere in the back of his head, inescapable. _Grimleal, Grimleal, Grimleal, Grimleal._ But he tried to focus on Chrom and Lissa’s words instead, clinging to them almost desperately.

Because really, they were all he had.

“Thank you,” he managed finally, in a voice that faltered only the slightest bit. “I appreciate it more than you know.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I made Freddy-bear a bit of a jerk here. I actually quite like Frederick and will write him coming around to Robin eventually.
> 
> Also I can’t remember if Chrom and the others actually knew about the Grimleal prior to their appearance in the game, but I figured with it being such a big religion in Plegia it would make sense if they did have at least minimal knowledge of them. So let’s go with that.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. A Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For better or for worse, Robin makes a decision.

Robin could feel eyes on him, pressing in from every direction.

Ylisstol was crowded, after all. But beyond that, he could tell almost immediately after setting foot in the capital city that his outfit attracted attention. Some of it was innocent—the wide-eyed stares of children who hadn’t yet learned to judge others by their appearance. For the most part though, it was wary at best, outright hostile at worst. Two women whispering, casting him nervous glances as he passed; a father grabbing his child’s shoulder and squeezing, white-knuckled. Their eyes were fixed on his sleeves, that word hovering on their tongues;

_ Grimleal.  _

Robin tugged at his collar, self-conscious. He should’ve expected this, he thought vaguely, given Frederick’s attitude towards him. And he had, to some extent, he just hadn’t expected it to be quite this bad. He was half-tempted to pull his hood up then, if only to escape the pressure of those stares, but wouldn’t that only make him more conspicuous? The last thing he wanted was to draw even more attention to himself. And there was also a part of him that didn’t want to give in like that. Just because he looked different, or out of place, that… that didn’t mean he had to hide, right?

This was Ylisse—Chrom’s country. And Robin wanted to think Ylisse was a better place than that.

As if he could read his thoughts—or perhaps he’d just noticed the way people were looking at him—Chrom leaned towards him with an apologetic sort of smile on his face. “Try not to take it to heart,” he said. “The people… They’re just not used to seeing Plegians in the city. The war left its scars, but Emm is doing her best to heal them.”

There was a lot in his words that Robin didn’t understand, but the sentiment alone was enough to ease his worries a bit. He smiled back with a nod. “I can’t say I entirely understand your land’s politics, but I’ll try not to take it personally. Emm… She’s your sister, isn’t she?”

“Indeed, and the best sister one could ask for.” Chrom’s smile grew wide, and Robin felt a warm flutter of endearment; it was obvious Chrom loved his sister a lot, just from the way his face lit up at the mention of her.

“Is she a healer, then?” Robin asked. “Like Lissa?”

Chrom barked out a laugh, so suddenly Robin startled a bit. Had he said something wrong? “Like Lissa?” he echoed, shaking his head. “No, those two are about as different as they come. But she is a healer, of a sort.” 

Robin just looked confused, so Chrom hurried to continue; “You’ll understand when you meet her, I promise. I can’t wait to introduce you.”

The words made Robin’s stomach do an odd little flip. Ah… That’s right, he was going to meet Chrom’s family. He was honored, of course, but… was it really for the best? He found himself rubbing his right hand, nervously, covering the mark there.

The mark that was undoubtedly associated with the Grimleal. Robin didn’t know what it meant, and Chrom, bless him, hadn’t said anything about it, but… He couldn’t help but feel uneasy whenever he looked at it, those six eyes staring back at him, unblinking.

Something about it… It just wasn’t right.

And yet Chrom was welcoming him into his family? Robin couldn’t quite fathom it.

“You’re sure your sister won’t… mind, then?” he ventured after a moment.

Chrom just stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “Mind what?”

Robin hesitated, before letting out a nervous, breathy laugh. “I don’t know. Me, I guess.” He glanced back, at where Frederick trailed several paces behind them, speaking in a low voice with the knight they’d met in the woods. “Frederick seems to mind, and perhaps for good reason. I don’t want to burden you any more than I already have.” He looked back at Chrom, and suddenly the words just kept coming, tumbling from his lips in a torrent of uncertainty; “I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, Chrom. I really do. But now that we’ve made it to Ylisstol, I’m sure I can figure something out. I don’t want to inconvenience you, and… and perhaps it would be best if we parted… ways…”

He trailed off though, the words dying on his tongue at the sight of the stricken look on Chrom’s face. Gods, he… he looked positively  _ downtrodden.  _ Like a kicked puppy or something. Why in the world was he making that sort of face? 

When he spoke then, Chrom sounded uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “Do you not… want to stay?” 

Something shifted, suddenly, in Robin’s mind. No, no, no.. He couldn’t have Chrom looking like  _ that.  _ “O-Of course I’d like to!” he answered hastily. “I just…” He searched desperately for the words to explain himself. “I wonder if it’s such a good idea. I know you want me to join the Shepherds, but your general doesn’t like me much, and honestly, I don’t have anything to offer you in return for your kindness. I… I’ve already—”

“Robin.” Chrom stopped him there though, cutting in with more of his usual assertiveness. “Your mind for tactics is truly exceptional. Maybe you don’t understand that, but believe me when I say that if you hadn’t told us exactly  _ how _ and  _ where _ to move, we likely wouldn’t have made it out of that forest alive.”

Robin bit his lip. “Maybe that’s true, but—”

Chrom just shook his head though, pushing onwards. “And as for Frederick…” Here he placed a hand on Robin’s shoulder—warm, firm, grounding. “I know he can come off a bit… curt. But he’ll come around to you eventually, I swear. Even if he doesn’t,  _ I  _ make the decisions when it comes to recruitment into the Shepherds, and I…

“I want you to join us, Robin. I mean it.” His blue eyes met Robin’s then, bright and honest. A soft sort of earnestness that Robin couldn’t look away from. He could only stare back at him, lost, unsure of how to respond.

And when the silence stretched on for a few seconds, that uncertainty crawled back onto Chrom’s face. Gods, he was so easy to read. “Unless… Unless you have other plans, that is,” he mumbled. “In which case I don’t mean to pressure you, I just…”

“No, I…” Robin blinked, tearing his eyes away and shaking his head. He tried very hard then to organize his thoughts. “I…  _ do  _ want to stay,” he settled on finally. “If… If you’ll have me, that is.” Then Chrom’s words dawned on him, and he couldn’t help but smile, chuckling a bit. “I mean, what other plans would I possibly have? If I did have any, I’ve forgotten all about them.” 

Chrom blinked at him, and then gave a short, awkward laugh. “Well, perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but I’m glad for that much, at least.” He squeezed Robin’s shoulder, warmly. “You’ll join us then? It’s decided?”

Robin thought he ought to hesitate more then; ought to think this whole thing all over again and look at everything objectively, as cautiously as possible, but… With the way Chrom was looking at him, hope painted clear as day across his face… How could he possibly say no?

Frederick’s suspicions be damned… Robin didn’t have anywhere else to go, and looking at Chrom now, he didn’t think there was anywhere he’d rather be.

“Yeah,” he said finally, a hand coming up to squeeze Chrom’s shoulder in turn. A gesture that came… perhaps too easily.  _ As if he’d done it a million times before.  _ “It’s decided.”

Chrom grinned widely, eyes shining like the summer sky. “It’s settled then,” he said. “Welcome to the Shepherds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a short one but I’ve got another on the way.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Just Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin discovers something about himself. Thankfully, Chrom is there to help him through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the tags if you have potential triggers, please.

The first things the Shepherds did after welcoming Robin into their ranks was insist he take a bath. 

Well, more specifically,  _ Maribelle  _ insisted he take a bath, but he certainly couldn’t fault her for it. He had no idea when the last time he’d bathed even  _ was,  _ and there was still blood and dirt crusted in his clothes from their skirmishes on the way to Ylisstol. Indeed, he might’ve jumped at the idea a bit himself. A bath definitely sounded… nice. 

The barrack’s baths were simple, but clean, and the steam rolling up off the water already served to relax his sore muscles. Yes, he thought, as he stripped his shirt off and started on his many belts. This was just what he needed...

Something he saw in the mirror then made him stop short though, brow furrowing. Just a glimpse of something on his back, curving over his shoulder and into his field of view. Very slowly, he turned, craning his neck to get a better view of himself in the foggy glass.

And almost immediately, he wished he hadn’t.

The sight that greeted him then… For a long moment, Robin couldn’t process it. His breath left him in a sharp wheeze, his eyes widening, and all he could do was stare at himself, uncomprehendingly. As if he was looking at a stranger, someone he didn’t know, but who was absolutely pitiable, given the sight before him.

The sight of scars—too many to count—criss-crossing in fine lines, neat and  _ intentional  _ across his back.

They ranged in length, and width, and even tone; some were light and silvery, while others were thick and pink, ropelike against his skin. It was sickening, and Robin felt suddenly as if he couldn’t breathe. He’d wheezed out that last lungful of air, and now he couldn’t seem to suck it back in, breaths coming in short, shallow gasps that barely filled his lungs at all.

He couldn’t breathe.

_ Gods,  _ there were so  _ many  _ of them.

He felt a wave of nausea and stumbled, weakly, catching himself with one hand on the edge of the washbasin. It was the only thing that kept him upright, knuckles going white against the pale wood. And yet still, he couldn’t look away from his reflection. The scars grinned back at him, sharp and sinister.

A cold, distant, analytical part of himself knew what they meant immediately. It was obvious. He’d been tortured. But he couldn’t remember any of it.

He… He’d been… 

_ Tortured. That was the only word for what had just happened. Even if the voice that taunted him from the darkness said otherwise, claimed it was only the punishment he deserved, the  _ incentive  _ he needed to get his act together and do better next time. He could do better than this, it said. He was more than this. He just had to pick himself up off this cold, stone floor and keep moving, just had to shove the pain to the back of his mind, shove his meager dinner back down his throat, just had to— _

His head hurt.

Robin groaned, tearing his eyes away from the mirror and burying his face in one hand. The pain in his head spiked violently for a second, and then faded, slowly, when he shoved the thoughts—the memories?—out of his mind. That’s right… If he didn’t… If he could just not  _ think  _ about it then his head wouldn’t  _ hurt  _ so bad. He just had to stop thinking. He just had to…

_ He just had to shut up and do as he was told. _

_ Idiot. Stupid child. _

_ Why did it have to be you? _

He sank to his knees beside the tub.

What had happened to him? He couldn’t… He couldn’t remember. A voice, but who did it belong to? Pain, but what had caused it? Scars, but who had… who had…

“Robin?”

A voice cut through the inky blackness of his mind, like a light in the darkness, pulling him suddenly back to the present. He sucked in a breath, jerking his head up to stare at the door, which was still closed, blessedly. He opened and closed his mouth several times then to try to respond, but no words came out. The mirror hovered in his peripheral vision, taunting him. What was he supposed to say?

After a moment of silence, the voice spoke again; “... Robin? Are you in there?” This time, he recognized it as Chrom’s.

_ No,  _ he thought.  _ Gods, no.  _ Wasn’t he supposed to be in a war meeting? He didn’t want Chrom to see him like this. So he scrambled to pull himself back to standing, ignoring the wave of vertigo that hit him like a brick wall in the process. His shirt. Where was his shirt? He’d dropped it somewhere, and he couldn’t… He needed his  _ shirt. _

“I’m coming in…”

_ “Wait—” _

He was too late, though.

The door creaked open with a low-pitched whine, and Chrom ducked his head in with all the subtlety he possessed, which wasn’t much. There was a flood of uncomfortable feelings in Robin’s stomach then, and he bit down hard on his lip, trying desperately to keep his features in check. Stiffly, he turned towards the other, angling himself  _ just so _ in an attempt to keep him from seeing…

Chrom looked right at him, one eyebrow raised, apparently indifferent to the fact that he was only half-clothed. “Sorry to bother you, I just wanted to check if you needed anything.”

Robin swallowed, roughly. He opened his mouth to reply, searching desperately for some kind of answer. “I… Uh… I’m fine.” His head throbbed painfully just to prove him wrong. He couldn’t entirely hide a wince.

“Are you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

A breathy, nervous sort of laugh. “W-What? No, I just…” He couldn’t bother the other with something like this…

Chrom straightened, opening the door wider to move further inside. His brow was knit in concern. “Gods, you don’t look well at all, Robin. Are you injured? Can I—”

“I’m  _ fine—!”  _ It came out louder, far more desperate than he intended. Chrom froze, eyes widening a fraction, and Robin felt his stomach drop like a rock. Gods, he… Why was he yelling? Chrom was… Chrom was just…

Robin felt his heartbeat speeding up to a gallop in his chest. He swallowed again, a gulp, trying to just breathe. He was…

_ He was fine.  _

_ His back felt like it was on fire—no, worse than that. Robin felt like he’d been skinned alive, every nerve from his shoulders to his waist alight with unbearable pain. Unbearable, but he had to bear it. He had no choice. He… _

_ A spell came hurtling towards him, dark magic with the intent to kill. He dodged, but only barely, stumbling out of the way, only to lose his balance and— _

_ The pain exploded as he landed, hard, on his back. _

_ There was a loud noise, echoing in the stone chamber. Robin realized after a second that it was his own cry of pain, and hurried to stifle it, clamping a hand over his mouth. _

_ No! He was fine. He was… He was  _ fine,  _ so please— _

“Please, don’t.” He was on his knees by the washbasin, hugging himself, staring at the wooden floor unseeingly. It was a memory? Or the shadow of one. Nothing specific, only shapes, and feelings; pain, and  _ fear.  _ He…

“Robin,” Chrom was saying, suddenly much closer than before. “Robin, you have to breathe.”

Breathe? He was breathing. He… He was trying, anyway. In, out. In, out. But it was too fast. He didn’t feel like he was getting any air, and he just…  _ Gods,  _ what was wrong with him? He tried desperately to get his breathing under control then—he really did—but his head was throbbing, and his mind was running a million miles a minute and he just—

He felt hands on his shoulders; warm, but firm. Gentle. 

He flinched.

There was a sharp intake of breath then—one that wasn’t his own. “Gods, Robin, what…?” 

Chrom had seen the scars then.

Of course he had. Robin made a broken sort of noise; something like a manic laugh, between his gasps for air. His head hurt. His chest hurt. Gods, he felt like he was going to die. And here was Chrom, trying to comfort him, to help him, and he couldn’t… he couldn’t even find the words to respond, didn’t have anything to offer him, because he didn’t  _ know.  _ He didn’t know, dammit! The memories were nothing but vague shapes in the darkness, and he—

“Robin, calm down!”

He just wanted to take a  _ bath— _

“Breathe with me, please. In… and out…”

One of those hands shifted from his shoulder to the base of his skull, tugging him gently forward, until his forehead bumped against Chrom’s chest. He could feel the other’s heartbeat then, the swell of his lungs as he breathed. In… out…

“That’s it. You can do this.”

Robin tried desperately to focus on those sensations, instead of the pain in his head and the image of those scars across his back. The voice that still lingered somewhere in the darkness of his memories that he couldn’t quite make out. He focused on Chrom’s voice, instead. His breathing. The feeling of his chest, and his arms around him. Warm. Secure. 

He was here, he thought. He wasn’t in that… that  _ other  _ place, wherever it was. And it was Chrom speaking to him now, not… not  _ him.  _ He was fine. He just had to… He just had to breathe.

In… and out.

“Just breathe...”

…

It took a while—several minutes, perhaps—for Robin to get his breathing under some semblance of control again. Finally he did, relaxing in Chrom’s arms, though he still trembled a bit, like some sort of wounded animal. He couldn’t help it; he felt drained, and cold, but Chrom… Chrom was undeniably  _ warm _ . 

He didn’t want to pull away.

Robin stayed with his forehead pressed against the other’s chest for a long moment, just trying to breathe. He just had to breathe, and… and lock away the thoughts in his head, the fear and the uncertainty. Just…

_ Just stay calm. _

_ Think about this rationally, Robin. _

He could do this.

So he had some scars. Some… Some lingering evidence that his past was perhaps not as pleasant as he’d hoped. He’d  _ known  _ that. Had his suspicions, at least. It… It didn’t mean he had to break down. He could deal with this. He  _ had _ to deal with this. 

Suddenly, all at once, he aware of the fact that he was clutching the front of Chrom’s shirt. He let go hastily, jerking back a bit. “I-I…” Gods, what was he doing? Heat flooded his face then as their positions dawned on him. “I’m sorry, I don’t… I didn’t mean to…” 

What would Chrom think of him?

Chrom grabbed his shoulders though, keeping him from pulling too far away. “Robin, it’s fine. Relax. Are you all right now?”

Was he all right? He didn’t know. His head was spinning, and he felt vaguely nauseous, but at least he could breathe now. “I… I think so,” he ventured. “Thank you, Chrom, I… I don’t know what happened.”

“I’d venture to say you had a panic attack,” Chrom offered quietly, concern coloring his voice. “Can you stand? We should go find Lissa…”

Lissa? That made Robin shake his head a bit, trying to clear it. “No, I… I’m okay. I was going to take a bath…”

Chrom looked nervous, though. “Robin, I don’t want you to pass out or something…”

“I’ll be fine,” he insisted, and cleared his throat a bit, pulling himself to his feet with the edge of the tub as support. The room spun all around him, but he forced down the nausea that rose in the back of his throat. He could do this. “Just… Just give me a bit…” That’s right, he just needed a while to get his thoughts under control. He…

Chrom didn’t need to trouble himself with this.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, eyes fluttering nervously around the room, looking anywhere but at Chrom’s face. “I swear I’m fine now. I just… I just need a moment alone.”

He didn’t want to look at it—the prince’s expression. But he could feel the concern and uncertainty rolling off him in waves, almost palpable. Chrom took a deep breath, opened his mouth again as if to protest, but then bit down on his lip and nodded, reluctantly. 

“Okay,” he said, and looked away, at Robin’s discarded shirt. “I’ll… I’ll bring you some fresh clothes, how about that?”

Robin nodded, quickly, and swallowed. “Yeah, that… That’d be great. Thank you, Chrom.”

_ Thank you. _

Gods, there was so much more to it than that. He couldn’t possibly put it into words. 

He felt awful. Shaky and light-headed, like he’d just run to Southtown and back without so much as a single break. He knew Chrom was probably right, that he shouldn’t be left alone right now, but he… He just needed a moment to himself.

Just a moment.

_ Please… _

…

He managed to wash himself without passing out, but what should’ve been a relaxing bath turned into a stressful affair he couldn’t wait to be done with. Every time his fingertips brushed over the ridges of those scars, he felt like a bolt of electricity ran through him; a sick sensation that made his stomach roll with a fresh wave of nausea. He didn’t throw up though, thankfully. He wouldnt. 

He had to get it together.

He didn’t want Chrom seeing him in a state like that again.

A panic attack, he’d called it. Robin didn’t quite know what that meant, but the name seemed apt enough. Some sort of illness? Gods, he’d felt like he was going to die.

What if something like that happened during a battle?

He didn’t want to think about it, but the scenarios flashed through his mind anyway, unbidden. Chrom covering him in a fight because he was too busy having a mental breakdown to protect himself. No, he couldn’t allow that to happen. He had to get it  _ together. _

Otherwise, what sort of tactician was he?

Chrom had put his faith in him. He… He couldn’t let him down like that. 

He wouldn’t. 

…

“Robin?” 

Chrom’s voice again, from the other side of the door. Nervous, and uncertain, and incredibly unlike him. Even if they’d only known each other for a short while, Robin knew that much already; uncertainty didn’t suit Chrom at all.

“Are you okay, Robin?”

He swallowed roughly, sinking down a little further into the tub. He still felt awkward. Embarrassed? Vulnerable? He wasn’t sure, but the idea of seeing Chrom again made him uneasy. He couldn’t stop thinking about the feeling of the other’s arms around him, and the fact that he  _ knew,  _ that he’d seen the scars himself.

Robin didn’t want to talk about it. But he knew, somehow, that Chrom was going to bring it up.

There was no point in delaying the inevitable, though. 

So after a moment, he cleared his throat awkwardly and replied; “You can come in…”

He rolled over in the tub, resting his arms on the edge and folding his knees beneath himself so he could face Chrom without being weirdly exposed. Though somehow, he felt as if he didn’t have anything left to hide from the other. Chrom had already seen his scars, and his brand, and knew just about as much about Robin as Robin knew about himself. And they were both men, so… There was no need to feel, awkward, right?

He tried very hard to convince himself of this, anyway. 

For his part, Chrom didn’t venture too close, hovering near the door with a bundle of clothes in his arms. “How are you feeling?” he asked, blue eyes flickering concernedly over Robin’s features. “Better, I hope?”

Robin nodded, vaguely. “Better,” he confirmed, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. He certainly felt  _ better,  _ even if he didn’t feel  _ good.  _ “Thank you again. You can just leave them there if you don’t mind. I’ll… I’ll be out in a minute.”

Chrom blinked, glancing at the clothes in his hands as if seeing them for the first time. “Ah… Right.” He placed them on the chair near the door, but then seemed to regret it a moment later when he no longer had something to occupy his hands. He fidgeted for a minute, uncomfortably, and the sight of it… Well, it would’ve been enough to make Robin laugh, had he been feeling a little less awful.

“Er.” Suddenly, Chrom seemed to be having a hard time looking Robin in the eye. “How about I meet you in the mess hall when you’re done?”

Robin swallowed, thickly. He didn’t think he really wanted to eat anything, but… considering their last meal had been bear in the woods, he figured he ought to try. “All right,” he conceded after a moment. “I’ll be there in a bit…”

He knew there’d be a conversation awaiting him there; one he didn’t want to have.

But he couldn’t run away from it.

…

He wasn’t sure how long he’d spent in the bath. The time he’d spent hyperventilating in Chrom’s arms was a blur to him; it could’ve been minutes or hours, for all he knew. And they’d arrived in Ylisstol late in the first place, so by the time he was dressed and entering the mess hall, it was mostly empty, save for the blue-haired prince. 

Chrom looked awkward and out-of-place sitting alone in a corner like this, but he perked up immediately when he saw Robin, standing to greet him. “I saved you some food,” he said, gesturing to a couple of covered bowls on the table and smiling, easily. “Stahl cooked tonight, and you don’t want to miss out on that, believe me.”

Robin returned the smile, albeit a little weakly. He didn’t know who Stahl was, but based on the aroma in the air, he did seem to be a talented cook. “You didn’t have to wait for me,” he muttered as he sat down. “Thank you, though.”

Chrom just chuckled a bit, scooting his chair up to table. “I saved you from a welcome party as well, actually. You should be grateful for that, too.”

Robin couldn’t help but smile wider at that. “Oh, I am,” he admitted. “More than you know.” Gods, he couldn’t even imagine dealing with a crowd of people right now. Chrom might as well have saved his life.

Well, he had practically done that, as well. At least in Robin’s mind.

Gods, he really did owe him too much.

Chrom, to his credit, did hesitate for a moment before diving headfirst into the subject hanging over them; “You’re sure you’re all right, then? You’re not hurt anywhere?”

Robin swallowed roughly, uncapping the bowl and staring down at the beef stew inside. “I’m not hurt,” he confirmed. “It was just a… What did you say earlier? A panic attack?”

“Those are nothing to scoff at,” Chrom muttered, leaning back in his chair a bit. “Lissa used to get them sometimes. I know how bad they can be.”

Robin made a noncommittal sound somewhere in the back of his throat. “Maybe so. But I promise you, I’m fine now. I… I’m sorry you had to see me like that.” He picked up his spoon, but it was half-hearted posturing at best. Even if it  _ did  _ smell good, his appetite was practically nonexistent, and the current subject wasn’t helping.

Chrom shook his head though, frowning. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s not something you can control, and anyone would be shaken if they…” He hesitated, as if searching for a way to skirt tactfully around the topic. “If they were in your position,” he finished finally.

Robin didn’t want to skirt around it, though. What was the point? “You mean if they had scars all over their back but couldn’t recall how they got them?” He supplied weakly, letting out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. I suppose so.” 

Chrom winced a little. Robin noticed absently that he hadn’t even touched his spoon. “Well, that’s one way to put it,” the lord said quietly. “Do you… want to talk about it at all?”

Robin bit his lip, eyes flickering off to the side, uncertain. Talk about it? What was he supposed to say? “There’s nothing to talk about, really,” he said finally. “I can’t remember anything. Just…” He winced slightly, trying to ignore the way his head pulsed when he tried to recall that voice. “Just some vague sensations. I know it hurt, for example. I can’t recall anything further than that.”

Chrom furrowed his brow, a vaguely frustrated look leaking onto his features. “But still, that’s… that’s a lot to deal with, Robin. I can’t claim to understand, but I can lend you an ear if you feel like you need to talk about it.”

“Chrom,” Robin said suddenly, putting his still-clean spoon down and fixing the other with a pleading sort of look. “I appreciate the offer. Truly, I do. But I don’t know what to say, and honestly, I just want to… I just want to put it out of my mind, if I can…” He swallowed, roughly, and tore his eyes away, back to the stew. It was probably getting cold at this rate.

“Tell me about the war meeting instead,” he continued, before Chrom could persist in his efforts. “I don’t quite understand the situation, but the Risen are a threat, aren’t they? And Plegia, as well…” He took a breath, trying to calm the bundle of nervous energy that seemed to have taken up residence in his stomach. “If I’m going to lead the Shepherds like you want me to, I’ll need all the information I can get.” 

Chrom pressed his lips together, regarding him for a moment. Robin thought he was going to argue the point further then; he was a  _ prince,  _ after all. Was Robin out of line? But he… He truly just  _ couldn’t  _ talk about it anymore. He had nothing to say, nothing to offer, and he…

He didn’t want to look weaker than he surely already did…

Finally, after a long moment of silence, Chrom let out a breath he’d been holding—an exasperated sort of sigh. “All right,” he conceded finally. “But please, just… just promise me you’ll see Lissa if you experience something like that again. For my sake, if not your own. Okay?”

There he went, being unfairly honest once again. Robin could only stare at him for a moment, taken aback by the words—the unbridled worry in his voice, as if he was talking to someone he’d known for years, someone who… someone who really mattered.

Something was off about this, Robin felt. Uncanny. 

Did he deserve this?

He didn’t know—just like he didn’t know so much else about himself.

But gods above, Chrom was doing a damn good job of convincing him.

Robin ducked his head after a moment to escape those too-blue eyes. “A-All right,” he managed, voice wavering a little, bewilderedly. “I promise.”

After all, how could he possibly refuse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got really long and awkward... but oh well.
> 
> I have my fair share of headcanons regarding Robin’s past... some more plausible than others, lol. I don’t want to give them all way since I’ll probably write more about them eventually, but suffice to say I don’t think Validar was the most loving parent.
> 
> In other news, I always struggle writing Chrom. I feel like I can project my own insecurities onto Robin and he’ll turn out okay, but with Chrom, he’s a bit too confident for me to really grasp, haha. So sorry if he comes off as super OOC sometimes.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	5. Calm Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrom has a crush.

Robin hadn’t really known what to expect when Chrom had suggested they go out shopping. He couldn’t, after all, recall the last time he’d been, or if he even liked the act of shopping itself. Of course, he understood the concept well enough _,_ but actually imagining himself doing it was another thing entirely. And for what it was worth, Chrom was the _last_ person he’d expected to suggest such a thing, considering his station and… er, unique fashion choices (not that Robin would say anything about the onesie—he’d never say anything about the onesie). 

Did princes even shop? Why would they need to? Didn’t he have servants to do that for him? 

But somehow, Robin didn’t think asking the other was such a good idea. He certainly didn’t want to offend the prince of Ylisse. As it was, once they actually got to the market, Chrom seemed strangely in his element, mingling with the common folk as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Of course, their “disguises”—if one could call them that—helped a bit in that regard. Really, they were just plain cloaks. Robin had turned his Grimleal coat over to the castle staff and opted to wear only his sleeveless top under the tan cape. Chrom, on the other hand, had just thrown the thing on over his usual outfit, and Robin couldn’t help but wonder how he wasn’t incredibly hot.

He didn’t seem to even break a sweat though, leading Robin through the market stalls with ease. Robin, for his part, felt on edge.

“Do you often wander out amongst the common folk without an escort?” he asked in a low voice, eyes scanning the crowd warily, as if some monster might leap out at them at any moment. Well, after the recent Risen attacks, could you blame him?

Chrom just let out a dry chuckle though, shaking his head. “Gods no. Frederick would have my head if he knew about this.”

Robin grimaced. Oh. Brilliant. So Frederick wasn’t even aware that Chrom had wandered off with only his least-favorite person for company. “I think he’s more likely to take mine off than yours,” he muttered. “Why did you want to come out here, anyway? What’s so important that you can’t just send the castle staff to fetch it?”

Chrom rolled his eyes at him before answering. “That would be _you,_ actually. You’re what’s important.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Those blue eyes raked up and down his form, slowly, deliberately—to the point Robin felt his ears flare up under the scrutiny. “Your clothes,” Chrom answered. “You don’t have any, right? You can’t well lead the Shepherds in Grimleal garb, no offense. Would that you could, but… uh…” He hesitated, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Anyway, I just don’t think it’s the best idea. So I figured we could. I could. Er, you know. Buy you something.” 

Was he stuttering? No, not quite, but it was something suspiciously close. Robin stared at him for a moment, unsure how to respond. Sure, he agreed with the sentiment; the Grimleal cloak certainly hadn’t been doing him any favors. But had Chrom really dragged him all the way out here just for that?

The _prince_ had come out to a crowded, common market just to buy _him_ some new clothes? 

It was ridiculous. Textbook reckless folly, with no regard for Chrom’s station or the possibility of an ambush in such a crowded place. And yet somehow, Robin wasn’t even surprised.

He sighed, folding his arms over his chest and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he muttered. “Chrom, you and I are going to have a _long_ talk about necessary risks and your strategic importance to our army when we get back. Got it?”

Chrom just scoffed a little, waving a hand dismissively as he ushered Robin into a random clothing store. “Sure. You can lecture me all you want later. But for now… Oh! Robin, how about this?” He pulled a shirt off a rack right inside the door, holding it up for Robin to see. There was a stupid sort of smile on his face then, and Robin found it oddly distracting. Gods, what was going on in that head of his?

He forced himself to look at the shirt, bewilderedly, and…

Good _gods,_ what was _that?_

He had to bite back an ugly laugh, turning it into an awkward cough instead. He didn’t answer for a moment, putting a hand over his mouth in feigned contemplation “Er… Well, it’s certainly _unique,”_ he managed finally. “The colors, they’re um…” He gestured vaguely, reaching desperately for something to say. “There’s a lot of them, huh. Is it missing a sleeve?” He squinted at the shirt confusedly, trying to decipher it.

“That’s so you can wield your sword better,” Chrom supplied helpfully, sounding very sure of himself. “I like this design. I have a few similar ones home.”

Robin winced. Oh, by Naga, he was starting to appreciate the onesie more and more. “Oh, well that’s… nice… But, uh, I think it might be more _your_ style than mine. How about, um…” He looked around hastily, searching for something, _anything,_ to distract the other. “How about this one?” He pulled an inoffensive top off a nearby rack, holding it up. It was simple—a light cream color, with sleeves that gathered at the wrists and few eyelets to lace up the front. Practical. Much easier on the eyes than… whatever the hell Chrom was holding.

“This one seems nice,” he said, giving Chrom a hopeful look. “Don’t you think?”

Chrom frowned a bit, narrowing his eyes at Robin’s choice. He glanced at his own selection and back again—once, twice. “... I guess,” he said finally, reluctantly. “It’s a little boring, but if it gets the job done…”

“Exactly, exactly,” Robin agreed hurriedly. “Function over form and all that.”

“But taking a sleeve off really does—”

“Oh!” Robin cut him off hurriedly, reaching for another shirt. This one was more tunic-like, with earthy, purple accents. “This one’s good, too. What do you think, Chrom?” He held it up to his own chest, nodding approvingly. Honestly, he was just trying to distract the other at this point. _Anything_ to get him to put down that offense to fashion he’d fixated on.

Chrom let out a sort of reluctant noise, but conceded in putting his own suggestion back on the rack. He looked at the new tunic thoughtfully, eyes flickering up and down Robin’s form. “Well, the colors do look nice on you,” he admitted. 

Robin glanced at him, raising one eyebrow, before looking back down at the shirt, really _seeing_ it for the first time. Did they? He hadn’t even been thinking about the colors… 

“A-And it looks very practical as well,” Chrom continued hurriedly. “Right. Practicality is what’s important. Why don’t you try it on?”

Something in his voice sounded off, and Robin gave him a curious look, trying to figure out what it was. It took him a second before it dawned on him, and then he found himself smiling, incredulously. Gods, was Chrom embarrassed? But going shopping had been _his_ idea in the first place! The idea was laughable, but then, Robin didn’t know what he’d expected. 

“You… Don’t do this very often, do you?” he ventured after a beat. He tried not to be too obvious, but there was still something in his expression… Something almost teasing.

Chrom looked for a moment as if he was going to argue, but then he caught the look in those black eyes and deflated a little, instantly. A self-conscious smile pulled at his lips, and really, it was too endearing—the way he managed to look relaxed and bashful, all at the same time. “Is it that obvious?” He laughed, lightly. “I’ll admit, Lissa was always more one for shopping. Maybe I should’ve just asked her to take you…”

Robin tilted his head to the side with a hum, gathering the two shirts he’d picked out into his arms. “You could’ve,” he said, “But honestly, I’m glad you didn’t. Somehow, I feel like she’d be a little… intense.”

“Ha!” A loud laugh; one that made Robin start a bit, eyes drawn to Chrom’s face. “You don’t know the half of it,” the prince said, gesturing vaguely at the store around them. “She’d make you try on everything in here, then drag you next door and make you try on everything in _there,_ too. She’s relentless, I tell you.”

The smile on Robin’s face had stretched into a grin. “Oh, I believe it. What about you, though?”

“Me?”

“Are you going to make me try on the _whole_ store, or only half of it?”

Chrom flushed a little, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You don’t have to try on any of it if you don’t want to,” he said. “But even _I_ know you can’t wear the same outfit every day, so… pick out a few things, at least.”

Robin chuckled lightly, bringing up one gloved hand to stifle it. “I’m only teasing you,” he assured the other quickly. Then he paused though, a thoughtful look passing over his features that quickly morphed into one of concern. “... Wait a minute. Is the royal treasury paying for this?” No, he… He couldn’t possibly accept that. But he didn’t exactly have any money of his own, and they were already _here,_ so...

Chrom just laughed again though; a bright sound that lit up the room and earned a few curious glances from the other patrons. “Gods! Don’t worry about that. Even if it was, I think Ylisse can spare a few coins to clothe one stray tactician.” 

Then he did something said tacticiain never would’ve expected in a million years; something that made Robin fumble for a minute, taken aback.

He _winked._ Charmingly. Grinning as if it was the most natural thing in the world. A look that had it come from anyone else, Robin might’ve thought they were _flirting._ From Chrom though, he…

… 

… Wait.

 _Was_ he flirting?

“Just consider it my treat,” Chrom continued after a moment, turning away from the other to look through another rack of clothes. This time he seemed to gravitate towards more reasonable choices—neutral colors and the occasional purple or red. Robin was incredibly grateful for that, at least.

Just as he was incredibly grateful that the prince turned away just then, because _gods,_ Robin’s face felt like it was suddenly on fire. 

What the hell was he thinking? 

_Flirting? Chrom,_ with _him?_ He had to be out of his mind if he’d seriously entertained that thought for even a second. Lots of people _winked,_ it didn’t… it didn’t mean anything special. It was just that Chrom had never made that particular face before, and Robin… Robin couldn’t get the image of it out of his head.

“All… All right.” He hurried to cover his own expression, feigning another cough into his hand. He could feel the heat of his own cheeks through his glove. _Naga,_ what was _wrong_ with him? Only a moment ago, he’d felt somehow in control of the situation. It’d been _him_ teasing _Chrom,_ and yet now, suddenly, Robin felt as if he was the one who’d been teased. 

He swallowed, roughly, and tried to focus on the clothes rack in front of him, sifting through the garments perhaps a little wildly. Still, he couldn’t totally calm the whirlwind that was his thoughts. In the first place, would he… would he even want Chrom—another _guy—_ to flirt with him? 

No… No, that didn’t matter, because Chrom _wouldn’t._

… Not with someone like him.

It was a depressing train of thought, but the easiest for Robin to follow then. Why would Chrom flirt with some nobody he’d found facedown in the muck? He was the _prince_ for Naga’s sake, and undoubtedly already had suitors lined up for him—proper _ladies_ to carry on the Exalt bloodline. Robin was just… He was just letting his imagination run wild, and he needed to reign it back in, before it got out of hand. 

For both their sakes…

Entertaining these sorts of nonsensical thoughts wouldn’t do either of them any good.

…

On the other side of the store, Chrom had his face buried in one hand as he tried in vain to force down the blush that’d risen all the way to the tops of his ears. Gods above, had he really just _winked_ at Robin? Like some sort of _idiot?_ What the hell was he doing—trying to be suave? He hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t even been fully aware of what he was doing at the time. After all, he’d never… never _flirted_ with someone before.

Was that what he was doing? Flirting?

Naga, _why?_ He liked Robin, he’d accepted that much, at least. He’d been strangely drawn to him since they’d first met in that grassy field, in a way he’d never experienced before and that he didn’t quite know how to deal with. Plus, Robin was incredibly smart, and a force to be reckoned with in battle, and Chrom just… He found it _admirable,_ how the other persevered despite the unfortunate cards he’d been dealt by fate. 

And he was _cute,_ dammit, when he… when he laughed, and when he worried, and when he gave Chrom those withering, exasperated sighs because he was doing something reckless again.

But Robin was a _man,_ he reminded himself, and he’d probably find Chrom’s feelings incredibly _weird_ if he found out about them. Even Chrom realized that they weren’t entirely… normal. But besides that, they hadn’t even known each other for that long. He didn’t want to come off like some sort of _creep._

Which he probably just had _. Gods,_ what was wrong with him?

He’d just wanted to take the other shopping. Do something nice for him and give him some possessions to call his own, since Robin didn’t… He didn’t have any, other than that coat that earned him nothing but judgemental glares.

He deserved better than that, Chrom had thought.

But then he’d just _had_ to go and make it _weird._

_He was such an idiot._

The least he could do, he thought then, was make it up to the other somehow. That’s right, he just… He just had to gloss over it as best he could and try to make sure Robin had a good time for the rest of their outing. They were marching to Regna Ferox soon, after all, and he didn’t know when they’d have another chance to relax like this. Probably not for a very long time, if his gut feeling about this war was anything to go by.

Just for one evening, he just…

He just wanted to enjoy the other's company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff to make up for some of the angst last chapter... Though there’s still a hint of angst here, as well. Whoops.
> 
> Well, thanks for reading!


End file.
